It is raining.
Tiny brown/grey birds
(I believe they are sparrows)
huddle under eaves next door.
A dirty and thirsty one hop/flies up
for a drink and quick bath at
the metal trough above him/her while
the rest stare into a slanted downpour,
perhaps thinking private thoughts.
They are waiting for the rain to stop,
possibly chatting with each other
in the way that birds must do or
simply waiting for a clear spot in the weather
so as to take off and fly about their business
in relative safety.
These winged ones are patient,
having little else pressing
save the daily ritual of
eating, sleeping and procreating.
I don’t see a single
protest sign.
None are shouting,
“Down with the damned cats!”
None are shouting,
“Arrest the hawks!”
None are shouting,
“Pack the Supreme Court!”
The precious creatures can fly in the rain,
I have seen them do it.
Today, they choose not.
It is an ordinary day and
I don’t need to ponder what life means,
I can see it. (oooh, there’s a Cardinal!)
Robert On The Air 